The Land of Strong Men Part 10

A day or two afterward Angus met Paul Sam on the range, looking for ponies. Though the Indian was old, he sat his paint pony as easily as a young man. In his youth he must have been as straight and clean-cut as a lance, and even the more than three score and ten snows which had silvered his hair had bent his shoulders but little. He was accompanied by his granddaughter, Mary, a girl of Jean's age, who, being his last surviving relative, was as the apple of his eye. He had sent her to mission school and denied her nothing. As he owned many horses and a large band of cattle, Mary had luxuries unknown to most Indian girls.

She was unusually good-looking and a good deal spoiled, though Paul Sam, being of the old school, cherished certain primitive ideas concerning women.

He listened in silence to Angus' statement regarding the missing stock, surveying him with a shrewd old eye.

"You think Injun kapswalla them moos-moos?" he asked with directness.

"I didn't say anybody stole them. I'm just trying to find out what's become of them."

Paul Sam grunted. "All time white man lose moos-moos, lose kuitan, him tumtum Injun steal um," he said. "All time blame Injun. Plenty cultus Injun; plenty cultus white man, too."

"That's true," Angus admitted.

"You nanitch good for them moos-moos? Him all got brand?"

"Yes."

The old man reflected. "Spose man kapswalla um no sell um here," he announced. "Drive um off--si-a-a-ah--then sell um."

This was precisely Rennie's reasoning.

"Where?" Angus queried. But on this point Paul Sam had no theory. n.o.body could tell, but some day it might be cleared up.

"Well, if you hear anything of my steers, let me know," continued Angus.

Paul Sam nodded. "Your father my tillik.u.m," he said. "Him dam' good skook.u.m man. S'pose me hear, me tell you."

But the young eyes of Mary had sighted ponies to the left. She announced this to her grandfather in soft, clucking gutturals.

"Goo'-by," said Paul Sam.

"Good-by," said Angus. "Good-by, Mary."

The girl nodded, with a flash of white teeth and a glance which dwelt for an instant admiringly on Angus' long, lean body. Then she shook up her fast pony and sailed away through the timber of the benchland to round up the bunch of half-wild cayuses, while her grandfather followed at a pace better suited to his years.

But the fall went and the snow came, and Angus got no news. It was a heavy loss just then, which he could not afford. Somehow it must be made up, and the only way he saw to do it was to cut cordwood. The price was low and the haul was long, but it was a case, for he had to have the money.

So all that winter he and Gus cut and split, while Rennie hauled and Turkey looked after the house and the feeding. And so all through the cold weather they made cordwood. It did not make up for the loss of the steers, but it helped, and he was able to send money to Jean.

The long winter pa.s.sed. The days lengthened and the sun mounted higher, so that it was warm on the south side of house and barn and stack. The snow went in a glorious, booming Chinook wind that draped the ranges with soft, scudding clouds, and set every gulch roaring with waters.

The ground thawed, and earth-smells struck the nostrils again. Up against the washed blue of the sky flocks of geese bore their way northward. One morning they heard the liquid notes of a meadow-lark.

Then came robins and bluebirds, and a new season opened with a rush.

CHAPTER VII

THE FRENCHES AGAIN

That spring Angus kept three teams going steadily on plows and disks while the high winds dried the soil to a powder, raising dust clouds that choked and blinded, so that they came in black and gritty to a shower bath of Angus' invention. He had accomplished this by a primitive water wheel operated by the swift water of the irrigation ditch back of the house. The water was always cold, and invigorated accordingly. But it was icy in the morning. Rennie tried it once and gave it up, while big Gus scornfully refused to experiment with a morning bath.

"It'll brace you up," Turkey urged.

"Vatter ent brace n.o.body," Gus replied with contempt. "Dees all-over vash by mornin' ban no good. Ay ent need him. It ent make me dirty to sleep."

But the dust vanished with the spring rains, and the grain sprouted in the drills. One day the fields lay bare and bald and blank; and the next, as it seemed, they were covered with a film of tender green. Then all hands began to clear and repair the irrigation ditches, so that when dry weather came the fields should have water in plenty.

So the early summer came and with it Jean's holidays. Her return, Angus recognized, necessitated some preparation.

"She'll have a fit when she sees the house," he told Turkey.

"What's the matter with it?" that young man asked.

"She'll find plenty the matter with it," Angus predicted apprehensively.

"We'd better clean up a little."

"Well, maybe we had," Turkey admitted.

They gave the house what they considered a thorough cleaning, which consisted in sweeping where it seemed necessary, and removing some of the pot-black from kitchen utensils which Jean had never set down on the fire. Angus eyed the rusty-red kitchen range, which Jean had kept black and s.h.i.+ning.

"I wonder if we hadn't better give that a touch of polish," he said.

"Where is the polish, anyway?"

"Search me," Turkey replied. "I've never seen any. What's the use? It cooks all right."

They could not find Jean's polish, and experimented with black harness dressing. But the smoke when the fire was lit drove them out of the house, and they let it go.

Angus drove into town to meet Jean behind a pair of slas.h.i.+ng, upstanding, bright-bay three-year-olds, of which he was very proud. Jean had never seen them in harness--indeed they had been harnessed less than a dozen times--and he antic.i.p.ated her pleasure in them, for she loved horses. He put up and fed the colts at the livery stable, had his dinner, made some purchases, and as it was nearly time for the river steamer on which Jean would arrive, turned toward the stable to hitch up.

As he turned a corner he met Garland, Blake French, and several other young men. Apparently they were out on a time, for none of them were entirely steady upon their legs. Blake French, however, was much the worst.

In the years that had pa.s.sed the French family had not changed their habits. The ranch was still a hang-out for every waster in the country.

But the young men were away a great deal in the summer and fall, following the various local races. They had two or three good horses, and seemed to find the sport profitable. Also they had achieved a rather unenviable notoriety. They had all been mixed up more or less in various rows, but somehow these matters had been hushed up. n.o.body desired to incur the enmity of a family which was supposed to have money, and one way and another a good deal of influence.

Angus would have pa.s.sed, but Garland stopped him, asking him to come and have a drink. Angus refused civilly, and Blake sneered.

"It won't cost you anything," he said thickly.

"I don't drink," Angus said shortly.

"Do you do anything?" Blake sneered. "Do you have any fun at all?"

"What I have is my own business," Angus returned, his temper beginning to ruffle.

Blake French, his brow lowering, caught him by the lapel of the coat.

"Are you telling me to mind my own business?" he demanded.